Chapter Text
Harry Thompson was many things in his life. But a murderer was not one. He could not bring himself to purposefully take another life, that just wouldn’t be in his best interest. Well, there was Ryan. But this is different. Ryan hurt Ste and the kids and framed him. This was a similar situation. Well Ste and the kids weren’t physically hurt, but still. Harry was once again finding himself framed for the murder of someone when he did not do it.
On the phone, Harry spoke with his dad via a voicemail, recording his last moments conscious as he rambled about how he had a way to clear his name. But he had to get out of Hollyoaks Village if he was going to stand a chance. Sure, he was leaving behind his newborn baby and the people he loved but it was the only way he was ever going to clear his name.
As he entered the alleyway to make his way out, he ran face first into Breda McQueen. And without warning, he felt a sharp pain inside his gut and fell to the cold, stone floor of the alleyway. He looked down at where his hand clutched his chest and saw the unmistakable dark red liquid that was his blood, coating his palm in the crimson fluid. Harry looked up at his attacker, a face he knew too well.
“Breda?” He choked on his own blood, he could feel the irony taste in his mouth and turned his head away and spat the blood onto the ground. He could feel coldness, a numbness travel across his body. He felt as if he was fading away. Was he dying? Was this really how his story would end? Being murdered and left to bleed out, being framed for a murder he had no part of? Seemed fitting that this is how he would go out.
As Harry felt himself slipping away, he began to think about all the people he would be leaving behind. Issac, his newborn son would be growing up in a world without a father. Sadie, raising their son alone. Ste, the man he loved more than the air he breathed. His dad. He’d be dying without his father knowing how much he loved him. Darkness clouded his vision, he lost all feeling in his body, couldn’t feel anything. But he could distinctly hear his heartbeat slowly faltering. A soft utterance left his lips, “Dad.” Before Harry Thompson slipped from consciousness.
Hours Passed. Soft, indistinct conversations could be heard. But the voices were so distinct. He knew whom each one belonged to.
“….my son…” That pained voice was his father, he knew it anywhere. Harry wanted to move, to tell his father he could hear him. But to no luck, Harry couldn’t beckon his father.
“…him. who did this to…” Diane. She was in tears. Hysterical almost. He could faintly feel her touch on his touch, her comforting arms around him. He wanted to tell her that, ‘I’m here. Please…’ But nothing. Not even a soft grasp at her hand.
More time passed. Time felt longer in the darkness for Harry. Was he blind? No, that couldn’t be. He was stabbed. His eyes weren’t affected. Why can’t he move? Why can’t he tell his family he’s alive?
Harry didn’t know how long he was unconscious for. All he could remember was the darkness and occasional muffled voices of his doctor’s, running tests and keeping him alive. James would come to visit every now and again but his visits slowly became fewer and fewer until he stopped showing up entirely. His father and Diane were there almost every single day. He could hear through the muffled fog that clouded his senses;
“Happy birthday, Harry”
“Happy Christmas, Harry.”
“I love you, Harry.”
That last one was the one constant thing Harry would ever hear between the slow beeps of his heart monitor. And every single time, it was said by his Dad or Diane. Except the one time it was said by Ste. And then the time after that. And the time after that. Ste visited just as often as Harry’s family. He could feel and distinctly tell which hands on his head belonged to Ste and which one’s to his family. He could tell which lips that kissed his forehead belonged to who by that point. The voices that spoke to him became clearer by the day. Harry had never felt as happy as he did now.
When the sun beamed down it’s warm beams into Harry’s hospital room, Harry let out a groan of frustration as he twitched and rolled away from the window, grabbing one of his pillows and covering his head with them. “Someone turn off the sun…” Harry muttered. A pause.
Harry immediately rolled onto his back and sat up. The blonde slowly opened his eyes and was hit with a tidal wave, no, a tsunami of emotions. Mostly joy. Warm tears rolled down his face as he wept to himself. ‘I can see again.’ Harry thought to himself as he wiped his face furiously with the back of his arm.
Harry slowly pulled the oxygen mask off his face and took the first real deep breath of his life since falling unconscious. As tears streamed down his face, Harry grabbed the call button near his bed and immediately paged the doctor. He mercilessly spammed the button. It didn’t take long for the doctors to roll in, eyes wide and talking amongst themselves. But Harry didn’t care. He only had one thing to say,
“Call my dad.”